


What is Love

by Millimoi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Lesbian, Love, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millimoi/pseuds/Millimoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What love is to Patsy and how she came to that conclusion</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A roll in the hay, taking to bed, coitus; sexual intercourse.  
Lying on my back, becoming cold from the sweat which covered my body I pressed her closer to me. Delia nuzzled her head up to the top of my shoulder, burrowing her face in the crevasse between neck and shoulder. She took a small piece of skin between her teeth and bit down lightly, causing another twinge to go rushing through my body and down between my legs.  
My body convulsed slightly and Delia giggled,  
"It's so easy to do that to you," she commented.  
"Oh? I replied, rolling myself and her over so we were both on our sides. Delia smirked, sliding her hand around my hip and gently gripping my backside. I shuddered a little and Delia laughed outright.  
"Hey, I'm just cold," I chided.  
"Well, come here then," she smiled, running a hand up my back to sit between my shoulder blades. Moving one of her hands she lifted the sheets of the bed over us both, allowing me the freedom to let my own hands wander. I slipped my hands from her ribs to her hips and back up to her breasts, squeezing her nipples between thumb and forefinger.  
Shutting her eyes Delia sighed softly.  
I smiled and lend in to her, letting our mouths meet in a soft French kiss.  
"Delia," I whispered pulling away from her,  
"Yes?"  
"I love you so much." 

My mind cast back to the first time I had said those words. I was twenty two, a qualified and experienced nurse for my age, and a girl who thought she knew all. However I knew very little. He was Simon Wilcock, a gentleman in his early twenties also. He was my experiment, I was cruel but unknowing, not aware that I was following through with something horrible.  
I had first heard the term lesbian aged fifteen, and I had known from day one, known the word was one I would come to use as a description for myself. I wasn't ready to admit who I was. As you may know it was very stigmatised to be a gay woman, very unheard of and only not an illegal act because good old queen Victoria believed a woman could never be so indecent.  
I tried my best to deny everything at first and that was how I had come across Mr Wilcock


	2. Chapter 2

He had been an inpatient, on high dependency at the London, whilst I was there covering a marriage leave.   
I wasn't at home on the ward, didn't know the nurses or doctors at all. He was kind, unlike the other men on the ward, he was patient with me, allowing more time for the tests I hadn't conducted on a regular basis before.   
Mr Wilcock had been admitted two weeks before on the intensive care general ward in a diabetic ketoasidosis coma. It was rare for a man as old as mr Wilcock to contract the deadly form of diabetes but, as the doctor on the ward was very clear in saying, it was not impossible. Mr Wilcock, having now awoken from the coma had been on my ward for a week, my week on the evening shift. He was currently being given two injections of U-40 insulin. I still remember the dosage was 0.6mg. He was to be injected in the buttocks, arms or thighs in the morning and evening. It was the third evening when he began to put on the charm. I'd met many charming men over the years but something about him made me think differently.   
It must have been around seven pm but because of the time of year and the nature of the ward many of the men were already asleep.   
I'd scrubbed my arms up to the elbow, as I always had. The fear of being a typhoid carrier had haunted me ever since I, as a trainee, had learned that such a thing existed. We didn't have a blood test before being accepted into a medical profession the way that people are now. No one knew who I was, not enough to know my history with typhoid.   
Going to mr Wilcock's bedside I could hear him sobbing- being emotional was very often a sign of a high blood sugar level and I presumed it would be a long evening.   
I pulled the curtain around his bed, bringing the vile of insulin and sterile syringe with me.   
"Now, come on old chap, let's get your injection done." I sighed.   
"Why me, Nurse?l" he sobbed, looking up at me with wide chocolate brown eyes. His cheeks were tear-stained.   
"Oh Mr Wilcock, having diabetes doesn't have to be the end of the world. You are exactly the same man you were before."  
"What girl's gonna want me know? Who'd want to marry this?"   
That was when I saw my opportunity, or rather, I was naive and thought I saw it. I would prove to myself that I was like every other girl, that I could look at a handsome young man and see just that. And so I said it.  
"Well then, mr Wilcock, if you are so certain you won't be ever marry then I suggest, once you are well and have left the hospital, that you and I have an evening together." 

Of course I never expected anything to come of it. Weeks later I was back to the joys of Male Surgical, with the help of a probationer. The young girl- just turning twenty- was all the way from Wales, why she hadn't stayed at home I didn't know. She was eager to learn and sharp as a tack, and also rather pretty.   
It was my evening off when the note came. I had just changed into some slacks and was lounging in a camisole under top with a just-lit cigarette when there was a knock at the door of my small room at the nurse's home.   
It was my understudy who came into the room. Nurse Busby, also off duty, wore a dress with a full skirt which bumped over her hips. She was wide-eyed when she handed over the letter.   
"A gentleman caller, Nurse Mount," she announced before leaving me to my note.   
'Meet me at the pictures, seven pm, Simon Wilcock.' 

I was instructed to lie on the bed, watching tentatively as Delia removed her bath robe, being drawn away from my thoughts of the past.   
"Oh Delia, oh." I sighed, lying in bed several moments before. I watched her, watched her eyes close and flutter, her long lashes made thicker and brighter with the mascara she wore. She stood there, wearing beautiful white French lingerie.   
"I told the woman in the shop it was for my, my fiancé." She whispered, climbing over me so her breasts slipped forwards in the balcony corset and bulged slightly in front of my face.  
"And one day," her mouth brushed my ear lobe, "you will be just that."


End file.
